Through Emerald Eyes
by FindingMyFantasy
Summary: Moments of life and death, pain and joy, and bittersweet endings, through the eyes of Aerith Gainsborough.


**Through Emerald Eyes**

I had always known that my time was coming.

Everything that lives has to die. I knew that more than anyone.

Except, it wasn't really death. I just… returned to where I came from, completed the cycle. Back to the planet.

I became part of the trees, the earth, the air. It was my anger that would whip the storm into play, and my calm that would sooth it again. It was my joy that would feed the flowers, and my tears that would fall in a light rain to sooth the world.

I was life, and death.

It was the footsteps which were the most comfort. Not his cold face, or blue eyes staring helplessly into mine. I hated to see that. No, it was the footsteps. They echoed as he leapt up the stairs. Each one was a chime of hope, ringing in my mind like the church bells I'd so long ago despaired of.

_He came for me._

It was that one, lonely, selfish thought that brought me the sweetest joy. After everything, Cloud was here. It was the deepest confession of affection he could ever give. I tried to smile for him, tried to show him that everything was ok. This wasn't the end.

I was going home. I wish he could have understood that.

But it was already too late for words.

I'd like to say that I didn't feel anything, but it would be a lie. When the blade punctured my skin, tore through my flesh, and came slicing out of my stomach, I wished that I had already gone.

There was moment before I fell when we were both frozen. His cold features never changed, but locked deep in his eyes, I saw part of him bleed for me. I didn't let my small smile fade. I didn't want him to know how much it hurt.

I felt my head drop like a stone, but my eyes were still wide with life. I could see my own reflection in the blood. It was _my_ blood. It was me. It glazed his blade. It streaked down my fleshy-pink dress in a beautiful crimson pattern. Pretty as a picture.

To this day, I don't know exactly what happened in that moment. I guess, somehow, he just didn't see it. He didn't want to see it. He saw the blade, he saw it cut through my flesh, but he couldn't bring himself to see the blood. I was his, clean, pink and beautiful. He wouldn't let the blood taint my dress, or allow chunks of my guts to touch the metal. To him, my death was gentle. Hideous, raw and gentle.

* * *

After the world disappeared, the first thing I understood was peace. There is an indescribable freedom in death; the nothing of it is the sweetest thing imaginable. There was no white light, but no darkness either. I couldn't feel anything. I didn't have to _be_ anymore, not if I didn't want to.

I slept for a long time. It was so easy to rest, to be free from everything; thought, life, existence.

It was an age before I remembered myself again.

The thing you have to understand is that the Lifestream is one consciousness, made up of countless thousands. There are so many people – their hopes and dreams, memories and regrets, emotions, personalities, idiosyncrasies; they all weave together into one great tapestry. At first, it's hard to stay awake, to stay conscious of oneself. Your edges bleed away into everything else until those people hardly exist anymore. We become one. We are those who are, and always are. We are those who always will be, and always have been. We are you. We are the spirit of your every laugh and every tear. And when you are no longer you, you will be us.

But us is still me, in a small way.

When I concentrate for long enough, the strands of life that make up my identity, the fragments of memory and chains of fragile emotion, all unite, merge into a consciousness, and I am me again. The first time, it was achingly painful. The memories and emotions hung from me like a physical weight, and only the joy of knowing myself again made it bearable. But I didn't sink back.

I don't know how long I had been there when I finally opened my eyes. Everything was white. Not an overpowering, intense white, but a soft and benign cream. I tried to breathe in, and found my body forming around me, just as I remembered it. There was no great gash in my stomach.

The whiteness was fading into comfortable, familiar surroundings before I even realised what I longed for. Panels of broken wood and weathered stone grew at a glance, my memory guiding the heavenly painting. Golden light streamed in from the two holes in the roof. The image was surreal, and as perfect as only dreams can be. Specks of dust were set aglow in the radiance, and at the end of the aisle, welcoming me home, was my white and yellow carpet of flowers. I let out a laugh of delight when I saw them, and it rang gladly through the church, fading to a soft echo in the rafters. In a dream, I began to tread towards the flowers, not touching anything for fear the image would shatter before my eyes.

It was only when the seventh floorboard from the left creaked under my heel that I knew I had found my heaven.

There was just one thing missing from paradise.

* * *

I was tending the flowers when he found me.

The church was just an image, a place my mind created, so when he came, I didn't have to turn round. I could feel him wading through the sea of thoughts. His presence seemed almost to glow, illuminating everything he touched. Just like in life.

He found the doors. They were never locked to him. When I heard them creak open, it was like he'd entered my soul.

I felt his heavy footsteps on the wood as he approached.

"Aerith…?"

His voice was like velvet.

I turned, and he was there.

_Zack_.

My eyes feasted upon his tall, muscular body, his dark, messy spikes. His eyes were bright as sunlight, blue as the sky. He smiled at me, and I felt alive again.

In a rush of limbs we were in each others arms. I clung to him, pressing every inch of myself against him. His presence was so perfect, so right. I felt a safety, a hope, a joy, that I'd lost for so many long years. My eyes closed and I dug my head into his chest, breathing in the smell of childish laughter, of Sunday afternoons lying in the flowers, of conversations in the park, of meandering through the city hand in hand; it was the smell of _home_. It was us again. I felt his warm hands on my back, and his cheek pressed into my shoulder. I grasped handfuls of his clothes and squeezed them tight, not wanting to let go.

"I missed you," I choked into his chest. I faltered on the last word, and the dam broke. My sobs gushed through. My shoulders began to heave violently as I hung on him, weeping even as I smiled into his warm body. He seemed to lean into me further, sheltering me from the flood.

"I missed you, too," I heard him murmur, and I felt his hot tears seep into my shoulder. And now he was shaking too, and neither of us could let go, forcing ourselves onto each other until it was physically painful.

When we could no longer stand we collapsed into the flowers, which now spread as far as the eye could see. The sky blanketed our blissful field in a startling, mako blue. We were entwined into a mess of limbs, and lay there, utterly content, for what could have been a lifetime.

It was then that I vowed never again to let him go.

* * *

When all our tears were spent, we broke apart enough to look into each other's eyes. His were the exact shade I remembered, a strikingly warm yet unnatural blue, now edged with raw pink left from his tears. We lay without talking for a long time, my eyes perusing his face, committing again to memory each tiny mark and feature; his dark-rimmed irises, and bright, open eyes, the outside edges stretching up slightly to parallel his steeply slanted cheekbones. I traced the tiny kink in his nose, his perfectly centred widow's peak, his lips, now curved into a pert, playful smile, and the faded, cross-shaped scar on his cheek that was the only disruption of his lightly-tanned complexion. Tentatively, I reached out my hand and brushed that one fleck of hair from his eye. He smiled.

But it was heartbreaking.

"It's ok," I whispered. "It was my time to go."

It took him a moment to respond.

"You're 20 years old, Aerith. You still had a life to live."

"So did you."

"I chose the life of a Soldier. I knew the danger I was putting myself in. But you… you didn't deserve this."

I put my finger on his lips.

"I wouldn't have had it any other way."

I reached up, and it was the most natural thing in the world that our lips were moving into each others softly. There was nothing left to hold us back. Death was never sweeter.

* * *

"I wish you could have lived. Even if it had meant being with Cloud."

I sensed this topic wasn't one he was entirely comfortable with.

"You know I never loved Cloud. Not like I love you."

He thought about this.

"I never even met Cloud." I added.

"It was me?"

"Always."

* * *

"Aerith?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't love Tifa. I hardly know her."

"You're worried Cloud will never be able to find happiness with her because he's now too much you?"

"How do you do that?" He said, breaking into a smile.

"What?"

"Just… _know_ me?"

I laughed a little, but it was forced. It was worrying me, too.

* * *

"I watched you everyday."

"I know. I could feel it." I paused. "Thank you."

He turned to me, questioningly.

"I couldn't exactly see you, but it always felt like you were near, just out of my sight. You were like my guardian angel."

He drew me closer. Then he stiffened.

"I, um, looked away when you were showering and stuff."

I laughed.

* * *

"Did you know what was going to happen?"

"Sort of. Not the details, but…" I trailed off.

"I'm sorry. It must have been hard."

I pondered this for a moment.

"I was a little sad, I guess. But I always knew that when the time came, I'd be with you."

"You don't regret anything?"

"… I wish I could have fixed Cloud. And explained to Tifa." I wondered how much I should say. "And I wish I could have fought with them to the end, seen it through. But I guess it just wasn't meant to be."


End file.
